


A Christmas Carol

by sianii



Category: Glee
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Christmas, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sianii/pseuds/sianii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas season is the most dreadful thing for successful NY fashion designer Kurt Hummel. But one cannot live his life trampling over everyone around them and this very Christmas Kurt gets some very special visitors who might just show him his flaws like he never wanted to see them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The ghost of one you knew

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read A Christmas Carol and was fascinated by it. There are a million and one versions of it and as ‘tis the season, I really felt the need to write a klaine or well Kurt Hummel version.
> 
> It’s in five parts and will be published till Christmas.

Kurt Hummel was the name on everyone's lips in the fashion world. His designs had been the talk on several conceding fashion shows and stars and starlets queued, and not rarely fought, to be allowed to present one of his haute couture gowns on the red carpet. You could say, at 28 Kurt Hummel had it all. The thriving business located in a spacious studio in Midtown Manhattan just as well as the beautiful loft on the Upper East Side. His name was well known and respected and his looks and style were the talk of a bunch of gossip and high class magazines.

He was also an asshole. Especially, but not exclusively, around Christmas.

It was Christmas Eve and Kurt was still working in his studio. The sketch he was working on, was giving him trouble and he was adamant about getting it done before going home for the night. He didn't mind working late and working late could mean 8pm, if he felt like it also 10pm or 3am. Needless to say his assistant Santana Lopez was expected to stay until then.

Kurt looked at the sketch. He just didn't seem to be able to get the neck line quite right. He sighed and put the pencil down, crossing his arms as he studied his work once more. Over the edge of his table he could see Santana in the front going over books and call lists. Her gaze flickered to the clock on the wall every other second. Kurt couldn't help but to roll his eyes.

“You need to be somewhere, Santana?” he asked coldly and the woman froze, her eyes still glued to the clock. She took a second before facing him, visibly bracing herself.

“Well, in fact I hoped to get out a little earlier tonight. It's Christmas Eve and I know Dani would like me to be home before midnight.” She sounded unsure and he thrived on it. When Santana had come to work for him three years ago she had been a snarky bitch who wouldn't take no shit, to be blunt. It had been the reason why Kurt had hired her. In a way she still was that woman. No one could handle divaesque starlets or greedy managers nearly as capably as her.

Knowing that it was even a greater success to have her act around him like an insecure school girl, always keen to please. Constantly afraid. It worked pretty well for him. He kept the work load high and the pay low and everyone was happy.

“Let me think,” he turned his head to the side and made a torn expression, “I guess I'll have to say no. I do not see how a holiday _tomorrow_ would be reason to let you go earlier _today_. It's pretty generous that you get tomorrow off altogether.”

“You have to give me tomorrow off! It's a _holiday_!” Her expression was so full of suppressed loathing, it was delicious. “Bad enough, Santana. You know you will have to be in extra early on the Day after Christmas to catch up on all the work.”

“Maldita sea! Wait? Are you serious?” Santana had stood up and had taken a step towards him. Kurt wasn't looking anymore though. He had just the idea to make this dress the crown of his next collection. “What were you expecting? Now shush before I get angry and let something slip and we don't want that do we?”

There was silence. You could only hear the scratch-scratch of his pen on the paper. Then there was a light shuffle and then a chair creaked. Kurt glanced up. Santana sat with her back towards him. Her whole posture had collapsed. She was working.

Shortly after the door was pushed open. Kurt didn't even look up. Santana could handle whatever business brought someone to his place.

“Well you do know how to bring the Christmas spirit into a studio, huh?” At that Kurt did look up. A woman had entered the studio. She was clad in a thick black winter coat with gold buttons (Macys) and her hair was straightened. She was quite curvy but Kurt appreciated style and confidence more than size and he had to say that this woman with her dark skin and perfect hair style was indeed impressive. His admiration for her appearance fell short though as soon as she had uttered her next sentence.

“My name is Mercedes Jones and I work voluntarily at a soup kitchen in Brooklyn. I am visiting business in this area to ask for donations. Could I speak with your boss?” She smiled kindly at Santana, her full lips curving upwards showing some perfectly white teeth.

“Well, good luck with that, lady. He's right in the back. May I present the utterly remarkable Mr. Kurt Hummel.” She let her arm wave around introducing Kurt like the special guest at a gala dinner. Payback, Kurt figured. On any other day Santana would just have get rid of the intruder herself.

“Kurt Hummel, I suppose.” Miss Jones approached him with broad, sure steps, her hand outstretched for him to shake. “Merry Christmas to you.”

He looked at her hand without saying a word until she dropped it.

“Yeah, we actually don't do Christmas around here.” He let his gaze drift around the utterly undecorated studio and put an obviously fake smile on his lips.

“Well, to each their own, I guess,” Mercedes replied, “But that shouldn't keep you from sharing with those in need. Some people say Christmas is an excellent time to give and share but I think any time of the year is perfect. So no excuses, Mr Hummel.”

She was still smiling and Kurt couldn't help but to laugh. “Yeah, if you ask me I'd say any time of the year is the perfect time to enjoy what you worked for, so pardon me if I intend to do that.”

“Sorry?” she asked perplexed. “What I am saying is that I am not giving you a cent of my well earned money and I would ask you very much to get lost now.”

“Listen now, white boy. I am not going to go after your trust fund or your house in the Hamptons. All I'm asking is for a little change for people starving and freezing to death in these ungodly streets. Do you have no heart?” She was raging now Kurt could tell. Her brown eyes were sparkling and she had moved her stance, legs more spread and hands on her hips, as if she was about to lower her head and take him on her non existing horns.

“My cardiologist assures me I'm excellent. I just don't see why I would support other people's laziness if my sad excuse for a government is already determined to feed every little rat that isn't determined enough to do so itself.”

“You...!” But she seemed lost for words. “If you were so kind as to leave my studio now. You're trespassing.” He leaned his chin on his hands and smiled kindly at her as she turned on her heel and stormed out.

“Way to go, boss. One step closer to eternal damnation.”

“You'd have to know, Satan,” he shot back, silencing her. He didn't believe in an after life or a supernatural being looking over them. And even if he had, protecting his own money from greedy strangers seemed like a very just thing to him.

The door hadn't completely closed, when it was pushed open once more. The man looked after the woman storming down the hallway towards the elevator, his handsome features drawn together in bewilderment. As soon as he turned his head and caught sight of Santana sitting at her desk though, a smile spread on his face, making his hazel eyes shine.

“Merry Christmas, Santana. Also, what was that about?” He stepped further into the studio, loosening the red Kashmir scarf around his neck and popping up the buttons of his dark blue coat.

“Mr. Hummel spread some Christmas cheer,” Santana answered lightly. She didn't like to admit it but in the stressful day-to-day business that was working for the Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson's sporadic visits were a welcomed and delightful interruption. “Of course he did.” He shared a private smile with Santana before walking past her towards Kurt. He had descarded of his coat and scarf only to fold them neatly over his arm, revealing the red slacks, white button down, blue sweater vest and green bow tie decorated with gold and red Christmas presents.

“Hey, Kurt. Merry Christmas,” Blaine cheered as he pulled a chair over to sit next to Kurt looking over his shoulder to get a peak at the new sketch. “What are you doing here, Blaine?” was all the greeting he got though.

“I am here to invite you to my Christmas dinner obviously. It's tomorrow at 3pm. Please say you'll come?” Blaine's face was bright and hopeful.

“Didn't you ask me the same thing last year?” Kurt sounded bored but Blaine nodded. “And what did I say then?” “You said no.” “And what did I say that year before?”

Blaine huffed out a sigh. “You also said no.” Blaine fidgeted with his hands in his seat but the hopeful expression wasn't yet wiped completely from his face. Kurt simply continued his work. He hadn't lifted his gaze once to look at Blaine. “Do you see a pattern here?”

“You can't really blame a guy for trying, can you? And besides, you're my friend, Kurt. Of course I'd invite you to my annual Christmas dinner.”

“Are we though?” For a second Blaine hesitated though the conviction in his answer made up for the moment of doubt. “Yes you are. You have been for over a decade and you still will be in fifty years. It's Christmas. It's the time when you keep your loved ones close. It's a time to be grateful for the ones you have and share your love with them.”

“Isn't Thanksgiving the holiday for being grateful?” Blaine laughed. “Well, you can never be grateful enough really. Honestly though,” he lightly places a hand on Kurt's thigh. Kurt's pencil stuttered for a second but he still didn't look up nor did he give any further indication that he was actually listening to Blaine. “I would love you to be there because you are one of the people I love and want to have close around the holidays. Just think about it.” Blaine squeezed lightly before retreating his hand and standing up. He had already walked a couple of steps as he turned around on his heel. “That reminds me! I know you never decorate but I wanted you to have at least something.”

From the pocket of his coat Blaine retrieved something small and then places it on the top of Kurt's sketching table. It was a handmade Santa puppet. It's feet dangled over the edge of the desk, his round eyes looking surprisingly friendly for two dead pieces of plastic.

“See all better.” Kurt didn't answer, had just glanced up and then narrowed his eyes at the puppet. “He'll just sit here and make your Christmas merry.” Kurt snorted but Blaine kept smiling.

He wished Santana and Kurt happy holidays again before leaving the studio. Blaine hadn't been gone a minute when Kurt put his pencil down only to grab the puppet and throw it into the general direction of the next bin with such force that he actually knocked the bin over when he hit it.

Santana let out a surprised “Oi!” then clicked her tongue when she saw the mess and how it had come to happen. “Will you just clean that mess up?” Kurt yelled at her, “And then get lost. You are equipped for nothing anyway! Don't even bother to come back!” Hastily, Santana had complied, shoving the trash back into the bin, the puppet included, and then had grabbed her things to head out. She had shot Kurt another questioning look, clearly unsure whether he was being serious about both her going now and not coming back after Christmas.

Kurt had been indulged in his sketch though, features concentrated but else devoid of any emotion. With a last glace Santana had rushed out the door hoping that whatever Kurt really thought, she was safe.

*

It was after midnight when Kurt left the building to head home. Outside the city was still filled with people visiting friends, celebrating Christmas and some people coming from a late night service. The streets were bright. The streets were always bright but now they were lit up by Christmas decoration in windows or bars, shops and private homes.

Kurt passed a group of people singing carols in front of a diner and shot them a dirty look as they rattled their donation can at him. It didn't even seem to bum them out which only lowered Kurt's already dramatically low spirits.

Standing in the cold New York night, it took forever to get a cab and when he finally did Kurt got more than he bargained for.

“Happy holidays!” the driver chirped as Kurt got in the backseat and if it hadn't been that cold or that late he would have stepped right out again. Before the driver could say anything more Kurt threw his address his way and added “... and don't even think of chatting me up.”

The driver didn't seem too impressed by Kurt's tone, knowing that if his customer felt the need to leave, he would be able to pick up another fair ten feet down the street.

“Eh come on, man! It's the holidays! Cheer up.”

“Holidays only means that I have to give my employees the day off. It means that the city is even more cramped than ever with fucking Christmas shoppers and worse _tourists_ who expect to have a magical time at the worst time to visit this city! The only thing even worse are people like you who cannot keep their damn mouths shut and let a content soul be at peace. I do not want your holidays so stop pushing them onto me. Besides, what do you even have to be happy about? You are a cab driver in New York, frankly one of the most underpaid and ungrateful jobs in this city. I'd tell you to cheer up but I wouldn't know how. I have to admit that you do already seem far too cheery for your situation so I only hope that you are not on drugs and that I will get home safely. If you'll excuse me now, I just wasted 3 minutes of my time by talking to you.”

The cab driver's mouth was hanging open as he looked at Kurt through his rear-view mirror. Kurt raised an eye brow and finally the man set the car into drive. Kurt sunk back into the seat. He could feel a headache forming itself right over his right temple and making its way to thoroughly get his mood to a knew nadir.

The alleviation he felt when he finally entered his apartment, tidy, clean and absolutely devoid of any sign what _season_ it might be, was colossal. In his soft sleeping clothes, with a dish of heated up left overs and a huge glass of wine, Kurt got comfortable on his $2500 couch. On nearly every TV station there were Christmas movies or specials or just something holiday related even at this hour of the day and Kurt was close to giving up when The Sound of Music popped up on his screen.

Kurt doesn't even need a moment of consideration before he sets the remote down and focused on the movie. His lips quirked up in a sad smile as he reached for the nearly empty wine bottle. As the movie ends Kurt had already fallen asleep.

*

Hours later Kurt was startled out of his sleep. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly had woken him, his apartment being dark beside the light from the TV. With a groan he sat up, rubbing his eyes and then cracking his neck to get a kink out. As he turned his head, he froze.

Next to him on the couch sat someone. Someone who couldn't by all laws of physics be there, aside the fact that his door was locked and he lived on the 20th floor. Beside him sat his mother. His mother who had died when Kurt was just a child.

“Hello, Kurt,” the figure beside him said and smiled. She looked at him friendly, wearing a Christmas sweater his mother had loved and still she looked _wrong_ , like she had been taken out of her time. Kurt shook his head. He had to be dreaming. What other explanation was there? He had had too much wine, a headache and all the sentimental morons had gotten to him after all.

“You're not dreaming, sweat pea.” If this was a dream it only made sense for his dream to make him think it wasn't a dream, right? And still she looked so real like if he only...

Kurt stretched out his arm, longing to touch her but as his fingertips made contact with her shoulder, his hand went right through, like he was grasping air. The contour of his mother blurred for a moment until he retreated his hand only to have her seem as solid as before.

“This can only be a dream. You are dead.” The figure smiled wider. “Does it feel like a dream?” Kurt considered this for a moment. He felt awake. His vision was clear and not the least bit fuzzy. He felt alert and in control of his actions.

“Just because I might be awake doesn't mean that you are indeed real. You could be a drunken fantasy. Maybe I am coming down with a fever and you are nothing but a hallucination or the idiots outside of this sanctuary finally managed to make me go mad.” His mother tilted her head lightly to the right, like she always did when Kurt had been stubborn as a boy. It made him sink further into his blanket and pout, a reaction he hadn't shown anyone in over a decade.

“Kurt, do you believe any of that?” her tone was serious but the smile didn't seem to be able to disappear from her face, the dimple in her cheeks coming out prominently just like Kurt remembered them. “How could you be real?” She pursed her lips then nodded lightly. Kurt followed her with wide eyes as she moved around on the couch only to come sit closer to him on her knees. Her hands were hovering over where his hands were twisted in his lap and if he only looked at it he could nearly feel her touch on his skin, the way he remembered it.

“It doesn't matter now if you believe that I am real or not, sweet pea. You are a smart boy and soon enough you will understand that our world is made of more than meets the eye. Nevertheless, I need you to listen. I came here to warn you.”

“Warn me?” Kurt couldn't stifle the laugh. This dream, fantasy, hallucination was getting more and more ridiculous by the second. His mother gave him her _Kurt-I-told-you-to-do-something-and-I'm-not-going-to-repeat-myself_ -face and immediately Kurt's laughter died in his throat.

“Yes, warn you. I am a ghost, Kurt. I died twenty years ago and now I have come back to warn you. This is not something the dead do lightly, so I expect you to take this as seriously as it is, young man.” Kurt solemnly nodded, he was simply too enthralled by the face of this mother to dispute at this point.

“Kurt, my dear boy, my dear son. Since the day I went away I haven't let my gaze drift away from where you grew up to be the man you are today and Kurt, I worry about you! I worry about what you have become.” Her hand lifted up and reached for him, as if she wanted to let her hands run through his hair. Kurt's heart beat fast in chest, as if it wanted to jump out. “There are points in everyone's life that change them and I am afraid of how these events have changed you. And you cannot even see that the path you are treading on, will not be the one you hope it to be.”

“Wha-What do you mean?” Kurt's throat felt dry. His mother's eyes were piercing at him, deep and blue, looking right into his soul even from beyond the grave. The ghost only shook his head at the question.

“You will have to find out by yourself, honey. But listen: three other ghosts will visit you. The ghost of Christmas past, the ghost of Christmas present and the ghost of Christmas yet to come. They will show you things and I hope that in the end you will understand.”

“Christmas ghosts? Can't this fucking holiday at least leave me alone in my hallucinations?” Kurt grumbled and tore himself away from his mother's gaze. Next to him he heard a light chuckle and then the ghost whispered, “I love you, Kurt. And I believe in you. There is still time and I know you have your heart in the right place.” The words got quieter towards the end and when Kurt turned his head back to look at the figure of his mother, she was gone.

He was once again in the darkness of his living-room, the only faint light coming from his TV. Kurt groaned as he flopped back onto the cushions of his couch.

“No more wine for you, buddy,” he mumbled to himself as he got up, turned of the TV and shuffled to bed.


	2. The Ghost of Christmas Past

When Kurt woke up it was still dark. He groaned and turned in his bed, rolling over to check how little he had slept. He didn’t feel tired exactly, more drained and he guessed that most of that had to do with the bottle of wine he had emptied the previous night. A look at his clock, erased the last bit of drowsiness.

There, bright red in the darkness of his bedroom, glowed the numbers on his clock, telling him that it was already closer to midnight than to midday. He had slept through the whole day and it wasn’t still dark but again.  
With another groan, Kurt fell back into his sheets. The day was as good as over. He had had no reason to get up in the first place and now staying in bed for another couple of hours to head out to work early the next morning sounded wonderful.

Kurt closed his eyes, rolling back onto his back, hoping that the wine was still somewhere prominent enough in his blood and head to make him fall asleep again, as something bright lit up the world behind his eyelids.

Immediately Kurt’s eyes opened and he shot upright in bed. Confused he looked around only to release an undignified high pitched shout, as he scrambled to get away from the figure sitting on the edge of his bed. A figure with red hair that was glowing in the dark, like the light of a candle. A woman that, as far as he could tell, was wearing a white night gown and looked a lot like… “Miss Pillsbury?” Kurt croaked. What was happening? That couldn’t still be part of the aftermath of the bottle of wine from the previous night. He must have been going insane because there was no reasonable explanation for why in hell his high school guidance counselor was sitting on his bed, in his flat in New York!

"How?" Kurt asked but Miss Pillsbury only raised her finger and shushed him. A snap of her fingers and suddenly all the lights in his room were on, making Kurt blink against the sudden brightness.

“Well now. That is so much better.” She straightened out her dress over her knees before extending a hand towards him. “Ghost of Christmas past. Pleased to meet you.” Kurt looked at the hand and as he didn’t move to take it, Miss Pillsbury drew her’s back.

“You know that isn’t exactly polite of you, Mr Hummel,” she chided him. It was enough to put Kurt out of his stupor.

“Well, it isn’t exactly well-mannered either to enter someone’s bedroom uninvited in the middle of the night. At any time really. And it doesn’t matter whether you are a hallucination or a…” The word got stuck in his throat. Miss Pillsbury smiled understandingly. “It doesn’t exactly make it better that you look like my high school teacher. I have a feeling that will lead to years of uncomfortable therapy sessions,” Kurt added grumbling.

“Oh so that’s who I am to you. Interesting.”

“What do you mean? Who you are to me?”

“I am what you imagine me to be. I am a ghost, honey.” She shrugged like it was self explanatory.

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Kurt insisted.

“And yet I’m obviously here. You’re not drunk, you’re not sick, you’re not mad and I am so very real, you wouldn’t believe it.” The woman laughed and extended her hand once again.

“What do you want from me?” Kurt asked. He couldn’t wrap his head around what he was seeing. It was a lot like the previous night when he had seen his mother. But he didn’t want to make the connection, as glaring as it might be.

“I want nothing from you. But I am going to do something for you. I am going to show you your past and what you make of that is your decision. I don’t know where we are going. It’s in you to make that decision but either way you have no choice.” She had stood up and was now walking around the bed, until she came to stop at the head of the bed close to Kurt. On her last word she extended her hand and before Kurt could move, escape, her hand had landed on his cheek.

Suddenly everything was bright and hot but before Kurt could start screaming it was over and Kurt fell only to land on his butt. He felt disorientated. He knew he wasn’t in bed anymore and everything was dark. It took him a second until he realized that the darkness was caused by his tightly shut eyelids. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to get used to the light.

They had landed in front of a house. It was dark but the lights in the house were lit, a long with outside Christmas decoration, lighting up the trees in front of the house, as well as in front of the other houses. Everything was covered in snow. “I should be cold,” Kurt thought. After all he was still only clad in his pyjamas and barefoot but he didn’t feel the cold. He couldn’t even exactly feel the ground under his butt. It was more like he remembered the feeling of cold stone than that he actually experienced it.

What he was sure of though, was that he actually wasn’t in his bed anymore. He had left his bed, his flat and come to this strange place, where he was neither being nor unexisting.

Questioningly he looked at the ghost. She was staring back, her expression cautious but attentive.

“Why are we here?” Kurt asked as he got up slowly. He felt a little dizzy. “It’s your memory, Kurt. We came here because we need to.”

Kurt consiered that and looked at the house again. This time he could take in more details. The car parked in front of it, shoes in front of the door, small shoes, a child’s shoes. The house was two stories high, with a nice front porch and a sign at the door, obviously made by a kid. All this seemed familiar, all this…

Kurt gasped as he stumbled back, as if he had been hit. “Why are we here?” he asked again through gritted teeth. The ghost only shook her head and went up the front steps. Kurt didn’t want to follow but it was like an invisible string attached him to the ghost.

They passed the door to the house, his house, the houtse he had lived in as a child, as if it didn’t exist and a second later they were standing in the living room. There was a giant tree in one corner and there didn’t seem to be one spot in the room that wasn’t covered with Christmas ornaments. And still, it looked off. Like someone who had no idea how to, had done it.

Kurt tried so hard to look everywhere, everywhere but to the one corner where a gruff looking man was sitting in an armchair but he couldn’t stop himself for long. The man looked tired, his eyes bloodshot and the bags under his eyes prominent. His whole posture showed that he was more exhausted than relaxed but still his smile didn’t falter as he observed the little boy, a child of maybe 7 or 8 years, playing with cars and dolls in front of the Christmas tree.

“Who is that?” the ghost asked in Miss Pillsbury’s soft voice.

“That,” Kurt scoffed when he noticed how choked up he sounded. He closed his eyes for a moment, blinking away tears before he violently turned away from the scene to face the ghost. “That dear Ms. look-a-like Pillsbury is me and my father, Christmas circa 2001. I am guessing so because…”

But Kurt never got to explain how he knew exactly which year it was as the little Kurt behind him had just started to speak.

“And mommy really can’t come home for Christmas?” The boy’s voice was high. Even higher than Kurt’s voice was now. For a moment Kurt was frozen again, staring at the ghost in shock, before he turned to look at the boy and his father again.

The boy was still playing with his toys but now Kurt saw how little joy there seemed to be to his play, like his mind was in a totally different place. Kurt looked at his father, seeing something he hadn’t noticed or recognized before. There was grief, pain. Pain that went so deep it looked all consuming. It was there in his eyes and for a few seconds it was evident all over his face. And then it was gone. Composed behind a kind smile and tired eyes.

“No, kiddo. You’re mommy’s far away now. She can’t come back ever.”

The little Kurt simply nodded and continued playing. The grown up Kurt though was furious.

“Why did you show me this?” he yelled at the ghost, “Why did you bring me here? How does this teach me anything but that the world is a terrible place where a kid has to loose his mother? Thank you. I had already gotten that memo!” Kurt didn’t want to think of his mother. Not ever. But especially not at Christmas. It was so sentimental. So weak. So not him. He didn’t need feelings or to care about crap like some deeply hidden memory. Hidden for a reason. All he wanted, all he needed was a good night’s sleep and some time to think about his new summer line.

“Take me back. Let me go home. I’m not sure what’s happening but I do not like it. I did not consent to this. So whatever you are. Whatever you did to me. Get. me. home!” Kurt’s breathing was quick and heavy, his fists were tight fists at his side. He was sure that the look in his eyes was murderous. But Miss Pillsbury only smiled sadly before she stepped forward and touched her finger’s lightly to his forehead.

When Kurt opened his eyes again he was standing in a room with high windows, dark comfortable furniture and a banner of his alma marta Dalton hanging over the fire.

“I am pretty sure you know that my old boarding school choir room wasn’t what I meant when I said home.”

“I can’t just take you home, Kurt. We will be done when you have seen everything you need to see. You still think this is a dream? Fine. Then just wake up. If you’re not able to, what does it matter. Just go with it. You can always forget about all of this in the morning. If you can that is.” The ghost smiled at him and Kurt rolled his eyes, turning back to the younger version of himself studying at a desk in the corner. The beautiful old room was classily decorated all in gold and red. He got caught up looking at himself, taking notes and reading the text book. He had been so young and naive.

“My dad sent me here when the bullying at my other high school got too bad. At least that’s what he said. I was grateful for being able to go here… and still I could never really shake this feeling,” Kurt admitted quietly. “What feeling?” Miss Pillsbury asked but just as Kurt wanted to answer the door to the room swung open.

“Hello, Kurt,” a cheerful voice sounded through the room and for a second Kurt’s heart warmed, his stomach filled with butterflies. It was only a second. Then it was gone again. It was an echo of what the younger Kurt was feeling as Blaine Anderson entered the room. Sixteen, dreamy and so gorgeous in his school uniform, with his honey eyes and dark hair.

Kurt shook his head. That had been then. Now, Blaine was just the last remnant of this younger clueless version of himself. A remnant that wouldn’t take a hint and leave him alone.

“Why are you still studying? Shouldn’t you be packing? Holidays start tomorrow, Kurt and your dad seems like an impatient kinda guy.” The younger Kurt laughed before he shrugged, avoiding Blaine’s eye. “Actually, I’m not going home over Christmas.” Blaine seemed surprised by that, scrutinizing Kurt as he took the seat across from him at the small table.

“I told you dad has a new girlfriend and she has a son and they are getting along pretty well… and they are coming over for Christmas and I just don’t want to seem like I’m intruding.”

“I hated feeling like that,” Kurt suddenly whispered, “Like he had a new family and I was supposed to stay away.”

“Kurt,” Blaine sounded pained and to Kurt’s ears way too understanding, “your dad loves you and he wants you to be there. I’m sure you told him some crap about school work and he didn’t want to push because he didn’t want to push you away. But you like Carole and Finn. And you love your dad. You have the possibility at something beautiful, amazing and maybe pretty awkward here. But it’s Christmas and that means being with the ones you love.” At that younger Kurt looked up. Kurt could see the blush rising all across the room. “So, stop studying, pack up and go home, Kurt.”

Blaine reached across and took Kurt’s hand. He squeezed it, not losing eye contact with the other boy for even a second. As Kurt’s mouth broke into a smile and then a giggle, so did Blaine.

“Better now?” Blaine asked and Kurt nodded. “Thank you, Blaine. You’re right. I love Christmas and I know dad wants me to be there. I was just being stupid and childish and just… you’re right.” Kurt smiled again as he gathered his things and both stood up.

“It’s not stupid. You’re afraid. It’s understandable. Come’ere.” And with that Blaine had enveloped Kurt in a hug. A tight embrace that radiated safety and love, comfort and home.

“Why are you crying?” The question broke the spell and horrified Kurt noticed the wetness that was painting his cheeks. “Get me the fuck out of here,” he scowled. He still couldn’t tear his eyes of the two boys hugging. Desperately he tried not to try and remember when he’d been hugged the last time. He succeeded because he actually didn’t know.

When the brightness and heat spread on his forehead, he could still here the two boys wishing each other Merry Christmas.

This time they were in a loft. The loft he had lived in with Blaine when they were in college. Kurt could see the curtains they used as makeshift walls. It was cozy. The Christmas decoration made the time they had landed obvious.

“Really? Is there like one ”memory” that isn’t Christmas connected?” Kurt asked dryly. The tears on his cheeks were gone, his usual annoyed expression back in place. “It’s like Fox News has outsourced the “war on Christmas” to fend on a completely new level for this hideous holiday.”

“I don’t know what news are about foxes but I know that this there is you.” Kurt was standing in the kitchen, whisking something in a bowl and singing Christmas songs along to the radio. It was then that Blaine came in through the front door and immediately started singing along when he heard Kurt. The college aged Kurt laughed when he noticed and rolled his eyes as Blaine tried to snatch some dough from the bowl.

Kurt had to smile in spite of himself and only the look the ghost gave him stopped him from tapping his foot along to the boys singing. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

The two boys in the kitchen were chatting now. Blaine had just walked forward to get another go at the bowl, Kurt had placed on the counter, when he tripped over his own feet and toppled over only to crash into Kurt. They landed on the floor a pile of limbs and groans. Blaine apologized a million times and tried to get up only he didn’t.

Blaine stopped. His fore arms were resting on the floor next to Kurt’s head, while Kurt’s hands had found their way to Blaine’s waist. There faces were only centimeters apart, their lips slightly parted and their gazes locked. It was only seconds but the moment was so evident, so there, it was basically demanding to be acted upon. In the hallway outside the apartment someone yelled and the moment was over. Gone. Not unnoticed for sure but untouched and with that a thing of the past.

Kurt let out the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. As if he had been anticipating how it would play out.

“You love him,” the ghost stated. “I did,” Kurt answered. A memory, nothing more than a memory and still, it was like someone had ripped a band-aid off of a nearly healed wound. It broke open again and Kurt bled.

When Kurt opened his eyes again he was still in the apartment but it looked different. Darker. There were still ornaments but evidently less and the lights on the tree weren’t on.

The ghost turned away from the kitchen and Kurt followed suit. He saw himself sitting on the couch, a blanket wrapped around himself, phone to his ear. He was talking with someone.

“No, dad. I’m sorry, I can’t. There is some last minute emergency work at the magazine. I don’t want to bore you.” A pause. “Yes, dad. I checked all the later flights but they are all booked out.” Pause. “Yes, I’ll come home as soon as possible. Yes, I promise.” Pause. An audible swallow. “To you, too, dad.” For a moment silence filled the apartment, then a noise when the phone dropped to the floor, followed by a loud sob as Kurt fell sideways on the couch. Shaking, crying, wailing everything only slightly muffled by the couch cushions. With some giant steps the other Kurt had rounded the couch and was looking at his younger self on the couch.

This Kurt tried desperately to hug himself, wounding his arms around his torso, as if he tried to hold himself together. The crying didn’t stop. It died down, became quieter but the tears didn’t stop falling.

The urge to do something became so strong Kurt tried to touch himself to comfort himself but he couldn’t. He was nothing but a whisper in the room and the memory of how utterly alone he had felt right then, right there was enough to have Kurt sink down next to himself and cry. Not loud, not with his whole body. But just as they hadn’t stopped then, the tears wouldn’t stop now.

“How could I have gone home? My brother was gone forever just like Mom had. How could I sit under the tree and just feel how much he was missing? How could I be there and see how much my father and Carole were suffering, feeling the loss where they stood and went? How could we celebrate when everything in the world become so pointless?”

Kurt was sobbing now and the ghost looked close to tears as well. Kurt remembered that look. Remembered Miss Pillsbury at the funeral, crying and looking at him with the same pity in her eyes like she had now.

He sniffed but then wiped the tears away. “Take me home. Please take me home. I don’t know if this is real or if I am having the worst dreams I’ve had in a long time. But please just take me home. Let me sleep and leave me alone.”

The pity wasn’t gone from the ghost’s eyes and l she shook her head resolutely. “We’re not done yet. There is still things you need to see.”

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to get up to step away but before he could even move, there was the touch and heat and light. When he opened his eyes again, younger Kurt was still sitting on the couch in the apartment.

The tears were gone, a calm expression in their place and a fashion magazine in his lap. He could see Blaine standing in the door with packed bags. “You’re really not going home this year for Christmas?” Blaine asked as he tightened a scarf around his neck.

“Nope. And I don’t think ever again actually. Christmas is just a waste of money and resources. Seriously, who in the world can tell me that I have to be merry and family friendly on some day in late December. It’s quite ridiculous.” Behind the couch Blaine had frozen, his jacket half on as he was staring open mouthed at Kurt’s back.“You love Christmas, Kurt. And presents.”

“Yeah, well. I grew up.” Kurt shrugged and Blaine closed his eyes taking in a deep breath. “But you’ll call right?” Kurt’s eyes flickered up from the magazine. His voice was awfully calm when he answered. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Kurt!” Blaine had stepped closer to the couch but Kurt just shrugged again, letting out a sarcastic “Blaine!” before going back to his magazine. Blaine just stared. He looked utterly disappointed. Like a child who had been told Santa wasn’t real. Finally he let out a defeated sigh and turned to leave. He was half way out the door when Kurt yelled, “Also, I’ll be moved out by the time you come back. The clothes are going well and I’m getting an apartment in Manhattan.”

This time Blaine didn’t look disappointed. Disbelieving, heartbroken were the words that came to mind. Blaine opened his mouth and closed it again without a sound. His eyes looked watery and he took a step towards Kurt and then he stopped. Something changed in his face, it became guarded but determined and without another word, Blaine grabbed his bags and left. The door closing sounded final.

“I didn’t call. Not that night, not ever again. Eventually I stopped picking up when my father called. He stopped trying to reach me years ago.” Kurt’s voice was calm, like the things he was saying hadn’t happened to him.

“Why did you stop calling? Why did you move out so suddenly?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you really not know?” “I….” “Or do you just think that leaving is better than being left?” Kurt’s eyes were wide, body tense and trembling but the ghost just nodded. A touch, heat, brightness and Kurt was once again surrounded by soft sheets, his bed firmly under him.

Miss Pillsbury was sitting where she had sat when Kurt had seen her first. The only thing different was her expression, that had gone from anticipating to sympathetic. “People always do things for a reason, Kurt. Even if they don’t know it. But everything you do impacts you and the people around you.”

Kurt’s eyes burnt but now in the safety of his own reality, everything he had seen felt like a dream again. A vivid one yes, but a dream nonetheless.

“What a ton of crap. Can I sleep in peace now? Or well can I wake up now?” The ghost smiled sadly. Her flaming hair was casting shadows around the room.“You’re not sleeping but you’ll understand that soon. There are still two more to come and then you will have to decide.”

The snapping of her fingers was followed by a light wushing sound and then everything turned dark. Kurt was asleep seconds later.


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Present I

Kurt was awoken by a ringing sound. He groaned in distaste, twisting in his sheets before he opened his eyes. Another ringing sound and a flash of light, indicating the source of the noise. Annoyed Kurt fumbled for his phone on the bedside table. A Google alert had set it off and Kurt read through the fashion news quickly.

As he locked the screen again, date and time flashed brightly. _8:15 am, December 25_ it said.

 _So much for ghosts_ , he thought and yawned. "No, wonder I'm so tired. I slept only for a couple of hours," his voice was a quite mumble in the darkness. The phone carelessly fell to the bed, as Kurt turned and snuggled into his pillow again. _Finally, conscious and I'm tired as fuck_.

He was just about to doze off again, as a loud noise, like glass breaking on floor, startled him. His eyes flew open wide, body tense as he listened intently for any further noise coming from beyond his bedroom door. It was quite, then he could hear a faint screeching noise.

Slowly, anxious not to make any noise, Kurt got out of bed, mobile clutched in his hand and the police only three digits away. The door opened soundlessly. Carefully, Kurt poked his head out from behind the door and scanned the living and kitchen area. The kitchen seemed as quite and empty at he had left it. That was until he noticed the light coming from his oven. Thinking about it, the faint smell of cookies was in the air. Cookies and... he poked his head around the corner further and saw a giant pine tree at the far end of his apartment, loaded with ornaments, candles and tinsel.

Kurt was so baffled he let the door fall open completely and stepped further towards the tree. The smell of pine and cookies intensified as the approached the tree, staring at it with lips slightly parted in bewilderment. He was so focused on the giant tree, that he didn't notice the man decorating it, until he was only a couple of feet away.

Just as Kurt noticed the man, he turned, opening his arms wide in greeting. "Merry Christmas, Kurt!", he called out brightly.

"Mr. Schuester?" Kurt asked in surprise. The man in front of him had a strong chin, curled dark blonde hair and green eyes. He was wearing jeans and dress shoes, paired with a red and white plaid shirt under a green vest, decorated with two giant candy canes. His shirt was rolled up to the elbows and his grin was enthusiastic if not a little exaggerated. All in all he looked just as Kurt remembered him, from head to toe.

"Schuhster? 'Tschuldigung, ich dachte Sie wären Amerikaner," Mr. Schue said, increasing Kurt's confusion.

"I don't understand..."

"My mistake. It's only you said Schuhster so I thought you were German," Mr. Schue laughed, rubbing his neck.

"You've known me for over ten years. You should know I'm not," Kurt disputed but Mr. Schue laughed again.

"My dear boy. I have never seen you. Well, I have but you haven't seen me before. Not really anyway. If I may introduce myself," at that Mr. Schue bowed deeply, "I am the Ghost of Christmas present."

"Oh dear God, please, no," Kurt groaned. _So much for being conscious._

"Do you still not believe, Kurt?" The man asked and Kurt shook his head forcefully. "How could I?" The ghost only laughed again. It annoyed Kurt. "How can you not, though?"

Still laughing the man grabbed Kurt's hand and placed it on his chest. Kurt had the faint impression of wind rising around them, the smell of pine intensifying, then everything but Mr. Schue became blurry and as Kurt's vision cleared completely once more, he was standing in an unknown apartment.

“This isn't a memory of mine. I've never been here,” Kurt murmured as he slowly turned around.

The room was narrow but homey. There was a TV, a quite small but not outdated one, in the corner, a comfortable if not a little ragged loveseat in front of it. The wall opposite the TV was lined with bookshelves. Kurt could see the standard library, Harry Potter, some classics and many paperbacks. There were framed pictures as well, though Kurt couldn't quite make out the people in them from where he was standing. Closest to him were several guitars, acoustic and electronic, some hanging on the wall some on guitar stands. Right on the other side was a dining table and cramped into the small space between that and the TV/sitting area was a Christmas tree. There didn't seem to be pattern to the colors or kinds of ornaments that were hanging on it, but it was stuffed to the brim with colorful balls, tinsel and some evidently self made decorations.

Next to the tree, right above the TV, hung a giant picture. It was modern art and Kurt suspected that it had been made by one of the inhabitants, especially as two stockings had been pinned to the bottom of the frame. One said _Dani_ , the other _Santana_.

“Wait. This is Satan's home? How could I dream of that? I thought you can only dream of places you know and I've never set foot into this shit hole,” Kurt wondered out loud. He had nearly forgotten the... thing, ghost, Mr. Schue, until he laughed again.

“Still not dreaming, Kurt.” It sounded as condescendingly fond as Kurt remembered his high school glee teacher being.

It was then that the door behind him opened and Kurt jumped to the side, as a girl he could only suspect to be Dani entered. She was pretty. Blonde, with blue streaks in her hair, a friendly face and curvy body. She was still clad in pajamas, or well an oversized T-Shirt and sports shorts, her arms full with several small packages and one larger one.

The larger one was set under the tree before she placed the small packages in the stocking labeled _Santana_. She quickly left the room only to return with a hand full of candy canes and clementines which she put into the stocking as well.

She caressed the stitched name for a moment with her fingertips, a loving smile playing around her lips, before she turned and crouched in front of one of the shelves. She shoved some books to the side only to expose a small vase, from which she took a key. A broad, if not slightly sheepish, grin spread on her face when she got onto her toes to reach a metal box on top the shelve, a grin that didn't falter when she settled at the table to unlock it.

If the look of surprise was anything to go by, bills and letters wasn't what Dani had expected to find in the box. Perplexed she went through the stack of paper only to take a deep breath before opening one, then another. Her look of confusion, steadily turned more worried as the read one letter after another.

Kurt and Mr. Schue had been watching in silence all the while. Kurt couldn't even fully explain it to himself but something stopped from complaining or commenting. Something in him was tense, as if he was only waiting for something bad to happen. That was what always happened in these sequences he got shown, right? Or maybe, Kurt finally understood that this was more than just a fantasy. He was trusted with something he wasn't supposed to see and that didn't happen without any reason.

Dani was nearly done reading each and every letter as the door opened again and Santana entered. She too was still in sleeping clothes, her hair made up in a messy updo and her arms full of presents and sweets.

She stopped short when she saw Dani sitting at the table, her eyes going wide when she saw the box and letters spread over the table. Nevertheless, it only took her a split second to school her features.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” Santana said, pressing a swift kiss to Dani's cheek before heading over to the stockings.

“To you, too, hon.” There was a pause, so tense Kurt felt the need to say something to break it. He was about to open his mouth when he remembered he wasn't exactly visible.

Dani kept staring at Santana who seemed very busy with putting one present after another into the stocking. When she had run out of presents, Santana let her fingers run along the fabric, smoothing it down. She was so obviously stalling. It made Kurt snort.

“So, you were looking for cookies.” Santana had finally turned and was now answering Dani's gaze with challenging defensiveness. She had crossed her arms over her chest. Everything about her posture screamed unease but Dani just nodded, worry still written over her face.

“Why did you hide this from me? You know we have to talk about these things.” Santana shrugged.

“Don't know. Didn't want you to worry your pretty head over this, like you're obviously doing now.”

“Of course I worry, Santana. Some of these bills are pretty high and overdue. I could try to get a job again, you know? It's no problem. I know the gigs don't pay that well.” Dani had stood up and tried to reach for Santana, who quickly side stepped around her girlfriend to get to the box.

Angrily she grabbed the bills and threw them back into the box, locking it when they were all inside.

“That won't make them go away,” Dani's voice was still calm but there was a hint of hurt to it.

“Well, it was worth a fucking shot,” Santana turned, facing Dani fully, “And I don't want you to work again. You hated being a waitress. I make enough.”

“Well, obviously you don't.”

“I will work it out!” Santana yelled so loud, Dani stepped back. “I will figure something out so just forget about it and open the fucking presents I got and we can be fucking merry and that like asap because I am still not sure if I got fired but either way I'll have to be there 7am tomorrow, okay?”

Santana's eyes were pleading but evidently not pleading enough.

“No.” Dani crossed her arms over her chest, looking just as defiant as Santana had moments before. “No?” Santana mimicked and Dani shook her head slowly.

“No. We are going to talk about this and we are going to talk about this now.”

“Well, merry fucking Christmas to me,” Santana yelled throwing her hands up in the air and turning to leave the room.

“You are not going anywhere now, Lopez. Fucking stop.” Dani grabbed Santana's arm and Santana froze. Her eyes were on fire when she turned and quickly extracted her arm for Dani's grip.

“You want to do this now? Fine. I don't appreciate being crowed into a corner. I don't like you snooping around and I fucking hate when you get all pushy. If I felt like I could tell you I would have so why don't ya worry about that!” Santana had stepped closer and closer while yelling, ending with tipping her index finger to Dani's forehead. She was about to turn again but Dani caught her wrist.

“Oh, no. You're not making this about _me,_ ” Dani's voice was cold as ice, though she couldn't ban the slight quiver from it, “This is about you. About you always shutting me out. About you not trusting me, keeping things from me. And not only this time. Always. It's like there is this big secret deep within you. Something you can neither share with me nor leave behind you! And it hurts, Santana!”

She let go of Santana's wrist and immediately Santana crossed her arms over her chest again. This time it looked like she was trying to hug herself.

“And this man you work for! You hate working there! You are paid a rat's ass! So little that you actually _hide_ the bills we aren't able to pay anymore because he treats you like a _slave_! And everytime I bring it up or just ask you distract me or deflect! Why Santana? Why won't you just quit? Why won't you be honest with me?”

“I fucking am! It's you who doesn't trust me. Sometimes I don't even know! Ain't I doing fucking everything for you? What else do you want? I work myself crippled for you, so you can be all artsy and creative!”

“I didn't ask you to do that.”

“Well, I still fucking do it! Because that's what love is all about, okay? I love you so I do what I can to support you! Why can't you just do that for me too?”

There was a short moment of silence, both women's eyes flashing angrily.

“Because you can't love someone you don't know. And you won't let me know you. Not really anyway.”

At that Santana laughed. “Well, that's rich! So no matter what I do, it will never be fucking enough. Why again are we doing this whole shouting match? Because I don't see where this is going...” Santana motioned her hand between the two of them, eye brows sarcastically raised in question.

“I...” Dani took a deep breath before she spoke again, her voice leveled, “I don't know where this is going but for now, I have to get out of here.” With that she was already half out of the door.

Santana looked dumbfounded but then she yelled after her. “Yeah, who's leaving now? Who's fucking running away now? Ay dios mio! And I'm the one who's deflecting. Fuck you, Danielle!”

The only answer the got was the closing sound of the front door. Santana was still standing in the door way, quivering with rage but that only lasted for another second. The noise of footsteps in the hallway faded and Santana deflated.

One second she was bristling and the next she was cowering on the floor, still quivering, but not with rage but with sobs shaking her body.

“Fucking Hummel. Fucking damn Kurt Hummel. Why can't anything ever work? Why can't I just start anew? Fucking Hummel. To hell with you!” Santana chanted between sobs and hiccups.

Next to her, invisible and unseen stood said Kurt Hummel. His mouth hung open and his hand was stretched out as if he had wanted to touch her, comfort her.

“Why is she blaming this sad event on you?” The ghost asked and Kurt swallowed thickly. Slowly, he turned towards Mr. Schue, nearly unable to tear his eyes away from his crying employee.

“Because I am,” Kurt's voice quivered, “Danielle was right. It's my fault. Their troubles, this argument. It's all my fault!” Kurt buried his hands in his hair and simply felt like pulling it harshly.

“How so?” The ghost didn't sound judging, simply curious. Another loud sob stopped Kurt from answering immediately. Santana had stood up. Her eyes were red and tears were still streaking her cheeks. She grabbed the phone lying on one of the shelves and dialed a number before sinking to the couch.

“Dani? Babe. Please, answer your phone. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. You're right. But I can't tell you. If you knew you wouldn't love me anyway and I can't risk that. Please. I love you so much. Please come back to me. I'll do whatever you want. Just... please come home.”

With that she hung up and left the room, head hanging and phone clutched to her chest.

“I know her secret,” Kurt said simply, “And I told her I'd use it against her.”

“You're blackmailing her.” It wasn't a question but Kurt still nodded.

“When she came to the city, when she applied as my assistant... I did some digging. I was impressed with her character. She didn't bow down to me. I knew she could be persuasive and handle my business well. But then I found this. A closed Juvie file and of course I had connections to get me the information I needed. And there it was. Something to get this strong woman on her knees to by my loyal servant for as long as I wanted. It was too brilliant to pass off.”

Kurt coughed to stop his voice from cracking. “When I told her she'd gotten the position, she was so grateful and when I elaborated I could see the dread and fear in her eyes. I often wondered if she thought about running again. Because that's what she was doing when she came here. Running away, trying to leave the past behind... but I guess then Dani came along and running wasn't an option anymore.”

“What was her crime?” Mr. Schue asked and Kurt turned around forcefully, staring at the ghost with narrowed eyes.

“What does it matter? She regretted it! That's what matters!” Kurt wanted to say more but the ghost smiled and nodded happily.

“You're right. The past is the past. What matters is the present and what we make of it.” With that the ghost took Kurt's hand again and pressed it to his chest.

Wind, pine, haziness and Kurt found himself in a different apartment.


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Present II

Kurt was hit with noise as soon as the dizziness faded. He blinked and as his sight became clear again, a large gathering of people came into sight.

They had landed in a living room, stuffed with both people and Christmas decoration. There were people sitting on the two large couches but also on the floor and extra chairs. Everyone was chatting amongst themselves, holding glasses with wine or other drinks along with plates of food. Christmas tunes were coming from the stereo, while the room was brightly lit by the lights on the Christmas trees as well as candles and several small lamps.

[[MORE]]Kurt looked around the room, his eyes zooming in on one or the other person, feeling like he might have seen them before somewhere. He didn't stop looking around, until a well known, extremely gelled down head of hair caught his eye.

At the other side of the room, a glass of sparkling wine in hand, stood Blaine, talking to a couple of people. They were chatting and smiling and every time Blaine laughed, he did it with every part of his body. His cheeks puffed up, his eyes became smaller and it was like he couldn't stop touching whoever was close, brushing his hand against the girl's arms or grabbing the man's shoulder in laughter.

Blaine looked so very content, Kurt couldn't help but smile slightly at the sight.

“Someone special?” a voice behind him inquired.

“Just a friend. But I am in love with him.” Kurt's eyes widened as he realized what he had just said and clasped his hand over his mouth as if sealing it, could take back what he had just admitted.

“If that is so, why aren't you at his party?” Mr. Schue asked and Kurt reluctantly turned to face him.

“Obviously, I was only able to attend this soiree as a non-being.” The ghost just nodded understandingly. “But you were invited, right?”

Now it was Kurt's turn to simply nod. His eyes found Blaine again. He was hugging a tiny brunet girl, one of those people, Kurt had the feeling he should know. Someone called out to him and Blaine turned to proudly hold up a pin in bow tie shape. His grin was huge and he immediately hugged the girl again. She took the bow tie pin from him and pinned it to his lapel.

She kissed his cheek and smiled at him before stepping back taking the hand of the man standing next to her. Blaine nodded before stepping further into the room and clapping his hands together. Immediately the people fell silent, all eyes on Blaine.

“I want to thank you again for coming here tonight.” He smiled around the room brightly. “It is wonderful to spend this day with so many lovely people and I want to thank you for making this maybe the most cheerful Christmas I have ever experienced in this wonderful city we call home.”

Some people called out, raising their glasses in agreement. Blaine laughed.

“Alright, then let us raise our glasses,” at that the brunet girl handed him his glass back, “and let us toast. To friendship, to love, to the wonderful time we all get to share, to Christmas and to Santa. “Merry Christmas everyone!” He raised his glass as everyone around him wished a _Merry Christmas_.

Some people fell straight back into conversation but the brunet girl had something to add, as she spoke loud enough that Kurt could hear her on the other side of the room.

“Especially cheerful as Kurt Hummel has declined your invitation.” The guy next to her snorted, as did some other people around them.

“Come on, Rachel, that isn't nice,” Blaine said. He smiled but Kurt could see the pain in his eyes.

“Well, it's a whole lot nicer than he ever is. Or treated you.”

“He just doesn't like Christmas that doesn't make him a bad person,” Blaine went on defending him but Rachel just laughed.

“Maybe not, but everything else he does pretty much leads to that conclusion, don't you think? I mean aren't you like his only friend? And sorry but all I ever hear is you making an effort and him being terrible to you! And that's not even the only thing. I bet you could ask half the people here to tell you one or anotheranecdote about when Kurt Hummel was unbelievably rude or mean to them. There are enough stories to fill a book!”

“It's true though,” the man whose hand Rachel was holding interjected, “Elliot over there once asked him to tailor him a suit for the Tonys and this _solipsist_ told him that, and I quote, he _couldn't be bothered with some mediocre actor who was way behind his finest hour and would never leave Broadway anyway_. He also didn't fail to insult everything Elliot ever wore. He was very thorough. Elliot is one of the most confident people I know but he came to me close to tears!”

Blaine was biting his lip now but he still didn't falter.

“You don't know him like I do. I know he has a good heart. I know he can be mean, vicious even... but there is more to him.”

“Yeah, I'm sure there is,” Rachel said doubtfully. She paused for a moment, leaning further into her boyfriend's side, “but even if he weren't that mean. Who hates Christmas? How is that even humanly possible? I am a Jew and it's still my favorite time of the year. Well, next to award season obviously.”

“Obviously,” Rachel’s boyfriend smiled and pressed a kiss into her hair. Blaine had smiled as well, but he looked thoughtful now.

“I don't even know. He wasn't always like that. I can still remember the time when he loved Christmas. He basically started decorating right after Thanksgiving and the color scheme was always perfectly planned out. His gifts were real little miracles, so thoughtful and beautifully wrapped. I don't know what changed...”

Blaine's gaze had drifted off and for a second Kurt wondered if Blaine saw what he had been shown the previous night. Them together in their shared apartment kitchen, baking and laughing. The memory tugged at his heart like it had earlier and for a second the urge to walk over and claim the kiss he never had received was unbearable. Only the knowledge that Blaine couldn't even know he was here, stopped him.

“You lived together or something?” Rachel's boyfriend asked and Blaine snapped back.

“Actually, we did. We graduated high school together. We were good friends back then, best friends but yeah...” He made a dismissive hand gesture, that said more clearly than words that people and lives sometimes just change. There was a small silence then Blaine visibly straightened up.

“But these are things of the past and this is the present. Right here and right now, with you and all these people present I want to be happy and celebrate. Kurt not being here is his own doing and the isolation he brought to himself. He misses this party and the possibility to spend a wonderful evening with people as amazing as you. I will not stand here and miss out on the fun!”

Rachel and her boyfriend laughed and the depressing air was gone.

“Rightly so!” Rachel cheered, “That reminds me. Didn't I promise to bring one of the cute actors from my show?” Blaine blushed and nodded. “Well he is here and he is hot and I have to introduce you two now. Who knows? Maybe you will not be as unkissed as the previous years this New Year.”

Blaine giggled but let Rachel lead him away. Kurt watched in horror as Rachel tugged at the sleeve of a very tall, ever so good looking man and introduced Blaine to him. He could see how Blaine extended his hand to the stranger who took it, shaking it a little longer than necessary.

Kurt tuned away forcefully. He felt tired, he felt sick and tears were rolling down his cheeks again. He must have cried more in the last 24 hours than in the last eight or so years!

“Take me away. Please. I cannot stand here and watch. I... I...” he hiccupped. Kurt didn't even know what to say. That he couldn't take the words of Blaine's friends? Words that he would normally shrug off with a raised eye brow. That he couldn't bare how Blaine defended him? Blaine, this gentle and genuine man, who he had rejected and ridiculed time and time again. Or that seeing Blaine with someone else was a stab to his heart. A wound so deep, he didn't know how to fix it, especially knowing that he might have lost every chance to years ago.

The ghost seemed to understand though and with a quick motion, Kurt felt the fabric of the vest under his fingers, as pine and wind enveloped him and the noise of the room disappeared only to give way to even greater turmoil.

 *

“Where the fuck are we?” Kurt yelled at the ghost, stepping back as two children ran by him, and nearly through him.

The ghost looked around. His eyes were sparkling and his grin was huge as he took in the mass of people, some sitting at several long tables, others playing with the children or getting food at a huge buffet. Mr. Schue seemed thrilled.

And still, despite the exuberant atmosphere, there seemed something off with the picture. Most of the clothes the people were wearing looked warn and some were obviously patched. The crowed as a whole also didn't seem to fit. This wasn't a party or a family gathering, and for sure not some event.

“It's a soup kitchen and they are having a Christmas dinner!” the ghost rejoiced and Kurt simply nodded. That was what he had thought.

“I thought your mission was to point out all the people's lives I've just made that significant bit more miserable but I'm sure I've never...” the word got stuck in his throat as he caught sight of a beautiful black woman, talking to another woman.

“Seen someone you know, Kurt?” Kurt gave a disgruntled noise but the ghost was already ahead of him walking over to the woman Kurt had been eying. Kurt didn't want to follow but a strong pull made him move, as if the ghost was holding him on a leash and tugging him behind.

“I know, Sarah. I wish there was something I could do but you know our regulations and financial situation.”

Mercedes looked miserable but that was nothing compared to the young woman she called Sarah.

“But Miss Jones, I don't know where to go anymore. Keira's sick and it's cold out.”

Mercedes sighed deeply. “You know I want to help you. I do. But the shelter is full. All I can give you is a good meal and maybe some new, warmer clothes. I can't let you sleep here. Last time the police nearly busted us.”

Sarah seemed close to tears now. She took a step away from Mercedes and nodded, defeated. It was only now that Kurt noticed a little girl of maybe two years sleeping in her arms. The girl was quivering slightly, and there was sweat on her forehead. She seemed to be hot and cold at the same time.

“Look,” Mercedes started again, “If you come back tomorrow I will be sure to pull some strings and find a place for you somewhere. I'll even make 100% sure you'll get there where ever it is but for tonight...”

Sarah was hugging her daughter closer now. She seemed desperate and resigned at the same time. A stark contrast to all the other people celebrating around them.

“I appreciate it, Miss Jones. I know you're doing all you can.” She walked off then, the bundle cradled in her arms.

“See, she'll get help. Everyone's taken care of. Can we leave now?” Kurt complained to the ghost. Mr. Schue turned his head and smiled slightly, hearing how put on Kurt's annoyance was.

“Tough night?” A blonde guy with huge lips and friendly eyes had approached Mercedes and put his arm around her shoulders. She sagged into him immediately.

“Christmas is always the worst. You always expect it to be different from other nights. That everyone can just breathe and be happy for one damn night. No cares, no worries. And then a mother begs me for a place to sleep with her sick child. A place I don't have.”

The man pressed a kiss to her forehead and Mercedes closed her eyes, visibly breathing out.

“I know you're doing your best. They know that too. I bet you still found a way to help.” The man motioned his head towards the crowd and Mercedes smiled slightly.

“I tried, Sam. But she wasn't the first. Won't for sure be the last tonight. There's always someone else in trouble. Taking care of one, only means I can get faster to the next. But it's like... I'm putting band aids on a broken bone. It won't heal. Won't help.”

Sam muttered in understanding and Mercedes stepped out of his embrace.

“I am just so damn furious that in the end it all comes down to fucking money. No matter how many people want to help, no matter how hard they work, we're out of resources and sponsors. So I can go and knock on door after door but the Kurt Hummel's in the world don't care for those people. People like Sarah who ran away from an abusive husband to save her child only to end up on the street, too scared and uneducated to know where to go, what to do. But no, Kurt Hummel is above these lost souls! Because everyone's the maker of their own fortune. Bullshit!”

Sam was simply smiling sadly at Mercedes. He seemed to be used to outbursts like that as he had neither jumped in shock at the volume of her voice, like some of the people around them had, nor was he staring with an open mouth like Kurt.

“I'm just frustrated I guess,” she muttered in an afterthought and shrugged. Sam pursed his lips before taking her hand.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Sam said in a mechanical sounding voice.

“Star Trek?” Mercedes asked.

“Star Wars. Darth Vader.” Sam corrected and Mercedes mumbled something that sounded vaguely like _close enough_.

“What I'm saying is,” Sam continued, “that we shouldn't give up yet. We're all frustrated. We all worry but we can't let these people know.”

Mercedes let her gaze wander over the people gathered around tables and the Christmas trees and as she took in the scene her eyes became more and more determined.

“You're right. For tonight we celebrate.” And with that she tugged Sam away to one of the Christmas trees to play with the children.

Kurt had watched the scene in silence and now that they were gone was decisively not looking at the ghost. His arms were crossed over his chest but it was like the ghost was staring hot flaming dots into his neck.

“What?” He turned and flashed his eyes at the ghost. “This isn't my fault. I am one in a thousand. My money would have been a drop in the ocean!”

The ghost just tilted his head and rose his eyebrows. He looked disturbingly like Mr. Schue always had when Kurt had just gone too far and he wanted him to realize his own faults. And just like back in the day it made Kurt's blood boil.

“It's true though. Nothing I can do.” He bit his tongue at how false that sounded even to his own ears. He couldn't get the picture of Sarah and her little daughter out of his head. God, why wouldn't it just leave his mind!

“If you have learned anything tonight, Kurt, it’s that one person can cause a lot of pain and hurt. But that also means, that one person can do a lot of good don't you think?.”

Kurt couldn't answer. His tongue felt woolen and dry, eyelids heavy. He was exhausted.

Luckily, the ghost didn't seem to be expecting an answer as he just stepped closer and laid Kurt's hand on his chest. The blink of an eye and Kurt was back in his bed room.

He could still smell the pine but the room was dark and he was already tucked into his bed.

Kurt was already half way to sleep, when he heard Mr. Schue's voice again.

“Our actions determine who we are to other people, Kurt. A good heart means nothing without proof in the world. There is one more and then it is your turn.”

The voice faded but the smell remained.


	5. The Ghost of Christmas yet to come

In retrospect the form of the last ghost that came to visit him was fairly obvious.

"Couch Sylvester?" he croaked out, when his high school cheer leading coach stepped up to his bedside from the shadows in his room. She was wearing a black Adidas track suit and a rather large dark cloak around her shoulders, something with a blaring similarity to the vampire movies that had robbed Kurt of his sleep during his childhood.

The ghost didn't speak. She only looked at him, narrowing her eyes and Kurt immediately felt like jumping out of bed to do a hundred pushups. He refrained from that though asking cautiously, "Are you the ghost of Christmas yet to come?", and sitting up a little straighter. If Santana had been there she would have pointed out the difference in his behavior towards this visitor in comparison to the previous two. Kurt didn't need her to though. He was quite aware of it himself.

Coach Sylvester nodded once then grabbed Kurt's shoulder. Kurt took in a sharp breath. Her hand was cold and in the matter of a second his shoulder went numb. He shuddered and everything went black.

When the light hit him again it was so bright he felt nauseated and the strong impulse to throw up overcame him. He hunched over before he could take in where they had appeared.

A gurgling sound escaped his throat, followed by coughing but nothing made its way up his throat. _Figures_ , Kurt thought, _a non being can't actually throw up non existent food from its non existent stomach_.

He took a breath to steady himself and straightened up. Miss Sylvester stood in front of him, unfazed by his break down.

Kurt looked at her. It was sort of unbelievably fitting to have her as the ghost of Christmas yet to come. A guidance counselor might have been more obvious at first glance but it had been Sylvester who had inflicted an irrational fear in him back in his school days. She had been insane, unpredictable and, for the most part, uncaring. Certainly characteristics she and the ominous future shared.

 _Not that unpredictable_ , Kurt mused, _after all this is supposed to tell me something about my actions. Nothing is written in stone. We can influence our future._

While Kurt had been busy mulling all this over in his head, Sylvester hadn't stopped staring at something behind Kurt. It only occurred to him now, that the ghost's gaze hadn't faltered or strayed once. Curious and anxious at once, Kurt turned and followed the ghost's line of vision.

They were standing in the garden of a small house, one story only, that was lit up with a countless number of Christmas lights in the bushes and around the windows. Through the window Kurt could also spot a Christmas tree.

"Who are we visiting?" Kurt asked the ghost. The ghost remained silent but his question was answered as Blaine stepped up to the window and into sight. He looked out over the garden thoughtfully. From the way his brows were drawn together Kurt figured that it weren't pleasant thoughts he was having.

Kurt had just opened his mouth to ask if he was about to hear more terrible gossip about himself, when a man stepped up behind Blaine only to wind his arms around Blaine's middle. Blaine's eyes widened for a second then softened as he sagged back into the man. Handsome-and-tall whispered something in Blaine's ear who sighed visibly and then turned with a smile, so that they both stood with their sides towards the window.

The man's hand came to rest on Blaine's cheek and even through the glass Kurt could hear their voices.

"Are you looking for someone, baby? As far as I know everyone we invited is here."

Blaine smiled, his eyes not leaving the man's face. "No, I was just thinking. It's silly. I didn't invite anyone else." The man grinned and leaned down to kiss Blaine gently and as Blaine wound his arms around the other man's waist, Kurt saw black.

The nausea was back again but of a whole different caliber as he sank to the snowy ground.

He couldn't feel the damp ice beneath him, but the cold inside him was as freezing as it could get, as it clamped around his heart, making him gasp for air.

“No, no, no, no, no. This is all wrong,” he mumbled in distress. He was a second away from rocking back and forth. For a moment he felt like he could see himself from outside his body.

He was sitting there in the snow, eyes wide and lips moving without making an audible sound, while behind him, Blaine was still kissing someone. Someone that wasn't him.

A day earlier his reaction would have been inexplicable to him, but now, he couldn't understand how he had ever been able to suppress the love he felt for Blaine, how he could ignore this yearning he felt, how it had been possible for him to walk away from this man.

And then he was himself again, feeling pain and fear at the sight of that picture and he just couldn't snap out. He didn't know how.

Kurt wasn't given the chance to try though.

Before he knew what was happening Coach Sylvester was grabbing his shoulder and before he knew it, the house and Blaine in it had disappeared, making room for a busy street somewhere in Manhattan.

Kurt was still crouching on the ground, gasping for air, as both nausea and silent sobs still shook him. He was sitting in the middle of the very populated side walk, but none of the pedestrians, tumbled over him or brushed against the ghost. Even though they didn't spare either of them a look, they passed by them in safe distance.

“You got another shocker for me? What else did I do to ruin my future?” Kurt knew he was whining, but in that moment he didn't feel able to do anything but.

Just like before the ghost simply stared, not sparing Kurt so much as a glance. Kurt tried to see what the ghost was seeing, but sitting on the pavement, all he saw where legs and purses of passers-by.

With a huff he wiped away the tear streaks on his face before he got up as dignified as possible. As possible as that was, wearing pajamas, crouching in the middle of a busy sidewalk in Manhattan. He was quite glad no one was able to witness his sore attempt.

Walking into the direction the ghost was looking, people made way for him, their gazes not lingering on him as they parted and moved around him. After a couple of steps the window of a book shop came into sight.

He was about to ask what could possibly be so significant about the display of some book store as a loud gasp escaped him. Dominating the window was a larger than life standee of Santana Lopez, right next to a table with books. They were titled “Life and lies of the Kurt Hummel: former employee speaks up.”

“This isn't happening,” Kurt mumbled, “this cannot be happening!” He searched for support but only ended up stumbling back, nearly falling before he caught his footing. Dazed he looked around, his eye catching the writing that was glued to the window. _New York Time's Bestseller! The fashion Scandal of the Century! King of Fashion chased from his Castle! Lopez' writing as witty as her story is touching!_

“Oh no.” Kurt's hand was clutched over his mouth, the words muffled as they rushed out of him.

Through his haze and the noise of everyday Manhattan, the voices of two women drifted to his ears. They were standing just a couple of feet to his right and were both looking at the display as well, coffee cups and shopping bags in hand.

“... read it?”, he heard the taller of the two women ask. The other nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. It was brilliant. She crushed him! He is a really sick bastard, that Kurt Hummel. I cried so much reading it.” The tall woman gave her friend an inquisitive look. “And you think she's for real? Wouldn't be the first time, some low-life bitch bad mouths her superior for a million dollar book deal.” That got a high giggle out of the woman. “No, it's all true. After the book came out other people in Hummel's circle spoke up, verifying her story.”

The taller woman turned back to the window, her gaze sweeping over the paper Santana. “Can't have been good for Hummel,” she mused and her friend full on laughed this time. “Are you kidding? That guy's finished! His last shows were a disaster! The New York fashion week uninvited him. I'm not sure if that even happened before like ever and as far as I've heard American Apparel are trying to step back from the contract for an international line designed by him. And of course there is the law suit against him for attacking this paparazzo.”

“Whoa, you're well informed.” The woman smirked. “Gotta keep up with the gossip while someone still gives a crap. I'm telling you, in a couple of weeks Kurt Hummel, will be no one. No one will care anymore. All that will remain is a footnote in fashion history and Miss Lopez's millions in her bank account.”

At that they both laughed, as they turned away, sipping their coffee and making their way down the street. Kurt was left to gape after them. He only then noticed the discarded newspaper on the ground. His face had made a corner on the front page. He didn't dare to look at the headline, but he looked awful. Thin, tired, unstyled and so fucking miserable. He couldn't take it. He turned away only to come face to face with Santana again. He tried to find the rage inside him, he thought he must be feeling but all he did feel was regret. “I might just actually deserve this,” he mumbled in wonderment and in that exact moment, the ghost's hand grabbed his shoulder and Kurt was swallowed by darkness.

He came back to himself under a cold and dark bridge. Homeless people were lying, trying to seek shelter but still visibly freezing. Kurt tried not to look too closely – living in New York had made him immune to looking at anything happening below his waist – but it was difficult when it was the only thing around him and the misery, fear and despair was not only visibly but hang over them, seeping into the bodies just as harshly as the cold.

Sylvester didn't spare anyone a glance but made her way between the bodies and Kurt followed. He couldn't not look at the people. Some of them were sleeping or maybe just already passed out. In others he could already see the price the frost had taken from their skin and hands, blue and iced over. With every knew detail and injury he took in, his heart sank further. He thought about Mercedes Jones and her fierceness, not giving up, even though her enemy was so overpowering.

Kurt nearly bumped into the ghost when she stopped. In front of them, leaning against a bridge pillar, was a woman, cradling a small child in her arms. Kurt didn't remember her name but he immediately recognized her as the woman who had begged Mercedes for help. The kid was motionless in her arms but the mother was still holding it close. At first Kurt didn't realize that the mother was crying. Not with tears but sobs were shaking her body.

“Is the child dead?” Kurt gasped. Dread was filling him and the inevitable realization that he could have helped. That mother and child could be cared and tended to now, if he hadn't been so blatantly arrogant and egoistic.

“Please, it cannot be dead! Please,” Kurt pleaded with no one in particular, as he fell down on his knees trying to check the pulse of the kid, get a look at his face or at least sooth the mother. But it was no use. He could not touch neither child nor mother, his words lost on them, as he sat there helplessly. His words were getting more and more frantic as he pleaded, begged and yelled for help. But no one came. The ghost did not look at either of them, while the other homeless people were too occupied with their own survival. On the bridge Kurt could hear cars passing, but no one stopped to see, how the humans under it were doing.

Kurt felt tears spilling down his face, out of frustration and guilt. It was so overpowering he didn't know what to do. Finally he got up and faced the ghost.

“I understand. Please. I understand, okay? Take me back. Take me home. Let me make this right. Let me just... just please let me make everything right, yeah? It's not too late. I know it's not.” Couch Sylvester looked him in the eye then. He felt like she was staring right to his core and maybe he was just imagining it, but it seemed like she was smiling. When she touched his shoulder this time, it wasn't painful and the darkness didn't drown him. It felt more like nodding off, when you fall asleep so slowly, you don't even notice it until you wake up again.

Kurt felt peace but even more he was left with a determined sense of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I don't believe it either. i might actually finish this story within the week. I'll have to reread everything I wrote first but yeah, seems like I'm going to keep my promise of finishing it before Easter so cheers to me


	6. Christmas Day

Kurt woke up slowly. Blinking, his eyes drifted towards the high windows that gave him an incredible view of Manhattan. He yawned and stretched, smiling as he took in the city, bathed in noon sunlight. He felt so peaceful. Content. Merry even. There was this feeling in his gut. Giddy but subdued by sleepiness and the inexplicable awareness that something extraordinary had happened. In this moment he couldn’t explain it but it made him smile.

He rolled over and took his phone from the nightstand. As suspected it was just shortly after twelve pm on Christmas Day. For some reason that didn’t make him frown in annoyance as would have been normal for him, but instead he smiled even wider, his stomach flipping excitedly.

When he entered his living room, he spotted a giant tree at the far end of his apartment, a plate of cookies on his couch table. Kurt took it in and gasped as the pictures hit him. Dreams but so much more vivid and alive then those. The memories of the ghosts and the visions of past, present and future hit him and Kurt sank to the floor.

The part of his brain that was still capable of rational thought informed him that he was hyperventilating, which didn’t exactly help all that much but at least he knew what to do. Still gasping for air, he opened a drawer and yanked out a bag, breathing into it a couple of times until his lunges worked properly again.

Through his dizziness pierced one thought, “ _It was real_ ”.

Instead of freaking out, the thought brought that feeling of serenity back and he sank to the floor. As everything he had lived through in the last, well, night, he supposed, had been real, it was now up to him to act on it. The voices of the ghosts and his mother were back making it so blatantly clear that his behavior had impact on his and other people’s lives and, more importantly, happiness and well-being.

He lunged to his feet, turned back to the drawer and took out a notepad and a pen. Biting his lip he wrote down a handful of names. It was Christmas but he wouldn’t wait till New Year’s to make amends. He went over the names again before he fetched his phone from the floor, where he had dropped it when seeing the tree.

He dialed an in-house number making a content sound when the other side picked up after only one ring.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Hummel. What can I do for you?” the receptionist asked pleasantly. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Linda,” Kurt bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t remember when he’d said that phrase the last time and actually meant it. “I need a courier as soon as possible. I don’t actually know if someone works today, but I’d really like to get this package on the way before the day is over.” As an afterthought he added, “Tell them there is of course a Christmas bonus, if they deliver today.”

“Of course, Mr. Hummel. I’ll see what I can do.” Kurt thanked her before he hung up. Putting down the phone he went to his study and retrieved a file from his safe. Gingerly, he wrapped it in a newspaper, he obviously had no wrapping paper, before attaching a note to it. He paused a moment, pen tapping on the top of his desk and a torn expression on his face until he found the right words.

 _Santana_ , he wrote, _this is all that I have. Do with it and your life whatever you please. Should you decide to come into the office after New Year’s (no, I would not expect you to come back earlier), we’ll talk Christmas Bonus and raise._

The tapping continued as he stared at the note. He took a deep breath before he added , _I’m sorry_.

Kurt reread the note again and again and finally he turned it and scribbled on the back side _This is not a test. I’m serious, Satan_. He didn’t know if the need to stretch that made him want to giggle or slap himself. He decided on neither as his phone decided to ring right that second.

It was the porter informing him that the courier had arrived. Kurt told her to send him up and quickly tugged the wrapped file into an envelope, scribbling Santana’s address on it and adding a giant _confidential_ in red letters.

The bell rang and Kurt hurried to the door. “Merry Chirstmas,” the courier cheered as soon as the door had swung open. Kurt only smiled and returned the sentiment.

“Here’s the delivery. The address is on it and make sure you only hand it to the person it’s intended for.” The courier nodded understandingly and handed Kurt the paperwork along with the bill. Kurt paid, tipping generously, which granted him a huge smile and another _Merry Christmas_ as the courier turned around to leave.

Watching him walk down the corridor, Kurt swallowed hard. That might just have cost him his most valuable asset in the vicious world of fashion and still Kurt couldn’t regret it. It was the right thing to do.

As the door fell shut behind him, Kurt was already back at the counter looking at his list. He crossed out Santana’s name and looked at the next one. Suddenly his throat felt terribly dry but he knew that no fluid in the world could make that feeling go away. With trembling fingers he reached for his mobile and dialed just one digit, the speed dial had never been deleted no matter how long it had been since he had used it.

It rang a couple of times before a gruff voice answered.

“Dad?” Kurt asked. It hadn’t been supposed to be a question but his voice was shaking and unsure, close to tears after hearing just a hint of his father’s voice the first time in years. There was a long silence on the other side of the line then a broken sob that Kurt didn’t think he had ever heard coming from his dad.

“About damn time, kiddo. Merry Christmas, you…” but Burt seemed to be lost for words, his voice cracking on what was sure to have been a far less endearing pet name than kiddo.

“Merry Christmas to you too, dad,” Kurt couldn’t hold back the tears and let them run down his cheeks and into his voice as he started mumbling over and over how sorry he was.

Burt let him go on for a couple of minutes, Kurt’s crying and endless apologies accompanied by Burt’s much lower and quieter sobs.

“Enough now, Kurt,” Burt said through a sob but he seemed to be collecting himself, “I want to know in freaking detail how come my son hasn’t seen fit to grant his old man just a word in years and is now crying in my ear on Christmas Day.” Kurt laughed, hearing the love and relief in his father’s harsh words.

“There is so little justification and so many stupid reasons, dad,” Kurt huffed out, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“I bet ya, there’s nothing just or right about it, I still want to know, Kurt.”

“Yes, dad. I promise you, I’ll tell you everything. I thought…,” he paused for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, “I have a lot of people to apologize to today but I thought about flying… home as soon as possible.”

“Is Blaine one of those people?” The question surprised him but he stuttered out a yes before asking his father why he thought that. Burt laughed throatily.

“Oh, Kurt. Did you really think just because you seemed to have decided not to have a father anymore, I’d be okay with losing another son?” Kurt made a throaty pained sound but Burt just huffed out a laugh. “I’ve been checking up on you by talking to Blaine every other month. That and fashion blogs. Hell, Kurt, I’ve never known so much about freaking fashion!”

Kurt was flabbergasted and his lips were moving unable to find the right words.

“I love you, dad,” he blurted out in the end making Burt let out another half sob, half laugh.

“I know, kiddo, I know. I still don’t know what happened but I’m glad that the world and I seem to have you back.” Kurt bit his lip for a second, unsure if he should delve into what he had seen.

“I… dreamt of mum,” he confessed in the end. Burt was silent for a long moment. Then Burt said very quietly but without any surprise, “She always had a gift with setting your head straight.”

Kurt nodded and the silence hung between them, when Burt spoke again he sounded just as jovial as he ever had, talking to Kurt. “Alright, Kurt. Get to it, then. I expect a very long and thorough call no later than tomorrow or I’ll do what Blaine has stopped me from doing all these years and come over there to tell you some choice words.” Kurt laughed and said his goodbyes.

Before his father hung up he could hear Carole’s confused voice in the background asking what that had been all about. His father yelled, “My son called.” The last thing Kurt heard was a shrill sound that was either a cry or sound of excitement. Hysterical it was either way. It made Kurt grin and his gut flutter with the knowledge of being welcomed home soon.                

*

After crossing his father’s name off his list and a quick but thorough shower, Kurt felt able to approach the other two names. A quick google search told him all he needed to know about the first.

He got dressed, elegantly but not overdressed or pretentious and with keys and check book in hand, he left the apartment.

*

The noise in the food kitchen was incredible. People were all over the place, chatting, laughing, arguing, most of them cheerful, evidently glad to have a full stomach and shelter for this cold Christmas day.

Kurt knew that even with his subdued and modest appearance, he was still sticking out like a sore thumb. He was also positive that a couple of people had recognized him, if the pointed fingers and blatant stares were anything to go by. Kurt tried to smile and evidently it came over as rather comfortable and natural, as most people who caught his eyes simply smiled back.

Still, in the turmoil of the place it took him far longer than he liked to actually find who he was searching for. Finally though, he saw the friendly but worried face of Mercedes Jones, who was just talking with two other staffers, one of them being the blonde boy from his… vision.

She was deep in conversation when he approached and it took him to clear his throat a couple of times before she turned around. Her polite smile turned into a suspicious glare as soon as she recognized Kurt.

Kurt held up his hand and miraculously that did stop her from coming down on him like the fist of god, letting him speak before she crushed him into the ground.

“I know I probably deserve all the insults and accusations you already have lined up for me, Miss Jones, but I come with a peace offering.” Kurt tried to smile winningly as he took a folded check out of his coat pocket. Kurt knew his smile was nervous and strained but he couldn’t relax as he observed how Mercedes hesitantly unfolded the check. For a moment she was just staring at the check. The blond guy peaked over her shoulder, his mouth opening and his eyes widening as he took in the amount on the check.

Kurt was now full-on fidgeting, the continued silence increasing his discomfort. He did hope that even though he wasn’t intending to go back to his asshole-ish self, the insecurity this new him seemed to sport constantly would disappear soon. It was quite unsettling.

“Feel free to add a zero or two,” Kurt joked tentatively, “Heaven knows I deserve it. Just not so much as to ruin me, though I’d probably deserve that too. On some level or other.” That got a smile out of Mercedes and Kurt could feel the tension leaving his body at that.

“That is…” Mercedes’s voice was husky and she cleared her throat before continuing to speak, “A very gracious amount of money, Mr. Hummel. Are you sure about this? It’s quite a change of mind compared to yesterday and I just don’t have it in me to deal with some lawyer banging down my door, because you went crazy, suddenly throwing around money and then demanding everything back because you were certifiable.”

Kurt laughed and that seemingly only confirmed Mercedes suspicions so he quickly said, “No, no, no. This is just me… making amends and you gotta start somewhere, right?”

Mercedes still looked unsure but money was a strong seducer, especially in a time of need. “I’ll accept it. It will be put to good use around here, I assure you Mr. Hummel.”

“I trust you and your organization,” Kurt assured her and finally he got the genuine and bright smile he had seen her wear when she first entered his studio. He was about to turn around when an idea crossed his mind. “Oh, and Miss Jones? Should a woman called Sarah come in, with a young child, please make sure she’s okay for the night, alright?”

With that he turned, throwing a cheerful “Merry Christmas” over his shoulder. As he left the soup kitchen and headed towards the next taxi stand, Kurt decided to come back. He had been ignorant to the world long enough. It was time to lean in.

*

In the taxi on the way to his last stop for the day on his presumably long journey to make things right, Kurt was worried. Nervous even. Sure he had been nervous about calling his dad, afraid even of his reaction, and going to Miss Jones to make amends and apologize for his behavior hadn’t been a piece of cake either, but this was still different.

First of all he would go to a place where everyone but Blaine basically hated him. It was horrifying to enter a place that hostile and it simply wasn’t true anymore that he didn’t care. He was pretty positive that Blaine would welcome him happily, surprised for sure, but glad he’d come. He was Blaine. He’d forgive him for being an insufferable asshole, something that wouldn’t stop Kurt from making up for it. Becoming friends again wasn’t all Kurt desired though. He had fallen in love with Blaine the day they had met and never really fallen out of it. Kurt had closed himself of to the feeling but now, he felt it all and with that feeling came fear of being too late. Of Blaine taking him back as a friend but never again considering them being more. He was afraid of trying to wait, to build up trust and companionship again, only to have Blaine find someone else.

He did remember the dreams perfectly. If this had been real and not just possibility, this might not even just be a matter of speculation but minutes.

The driver pulled up at Blaine’s building and Kurt paid the fare, adding a generous tip. The driver wished him _Happy Holidays_ and Kurt returned the sentiment distractedly as he got out of the car.

He had never been to this apartment before but Blaine had given him very stern directions years ago, so he wouldn’t have an excuse of getting lost, for sure.

At the door Kurt paused again. He was just preparing to knock as the door was opened. A couple of Blaine’s friends were laughing, seemingly heading out, but freezing as they noticed who was standing there in front of him.

Their eyes widened and one of the guy’s mouth simply dropped.

“Uhm,” Kurt was lost for words. This was so awkward and he had no idea how to handle this. “Happy holidays,” he piped up finally, noticing how the silence had stretched from the door further into the flat.

After a moment, some of them mumbled a response and Kurt ducked into the apartment with a curt nod.

The first person he saw that he actually knew was Elliot. Elliot had seen him too, looking similarly stunned as the people at the door. Kurt swallowed hard but hey, making amends as he went along.

 

“Hello, Elliot,” he said hesitantly. He wasn’t even sure if they were on a first name basis. He vaguely remembered simply calling him _uninspired vampire drag queen_ the last time they had talked. Shit.

“I didn’t expect to run into you here.” Elliot’s words were clipped and defensive as if he was expecting an onslaught. Justified, Kurt figured.

“Blaine and I go way back, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t expect me to show.” He tried to smile at Elliot but he was pretty sure it looked more like a grimace. Kurt really didn’t know himself. He had never been that jumpy and nervous but he just couldn’t help it.

Elliot only nodded again, lips a thin line.

“So…,” Kurt started again, not really sure what to say. He should just apologize but he’d never really been good at that. What he was good at was actions though. “So, I heard you are getting the lead in a new musical next season? Congratulations. I heard only promising things about it. High expectations.”

Elliot was still looking wary so Kurt went on. “I would love to tailor you a suit for the premier. I’m sure a lot of designers want to, but… I’d also welcome any input or directions you have for it. Normally, I am very particular in my designing process, but I’d make an exception.”

“Would you now,” but the malice in Elliot’s voice was gone, replaced by utter disbelief. Kurt just nodded, this time managing to actually smile. Maybe the nervousness was worth getting stunned reactions like that. Kurt quite liked to be unpredictable after all.

“Well,  I guess we could talk about that at least.” A peace offering. That was all Kurt needed.

“Fabulous, I’ll call your agent in the new year.” Kurt extended his hand and after a small hesitation, Elliot took it. “I am glad, you are giving this a chance.” Kurt confessed quietly.

“I hope I won’t regret it.” Elliot’s words were cautious but there was a sparkle in his eyes that made Kurt’s stomach drop with relief.

“You won’t.” Kurt squeezed Elliot’s hand again before pulling back, wishing him happy holidays as he went to find Blaine.

 

It didn’t take him long to find Blaine. Kurt didn’t see him right away but rather followed the laugh he knew as Rachel’s from his dream.

And indeed, Blaine was standing there with Rachel and the man Kurt knew from the dream.

Kurt’s heart was bearing 100 miles an hour as he approached. He could still feel the stares from the other party goers on him and had no idea how Blaine hadn’t yet heard of his arrival.

“Merry Christmas,” Kurt said as a way of hello as he stepped into their circle. He cringed, he sounded like he was fifteen again, several octaves too high. He cleared his throat and was met with the already familiar stunned stares.

“Kurt!” Blaine finally gasped, “You came!” Kurt had to grin sheepishly and the smile he got in return from Blaine was brighter than the sun. Their eyes locked for a moment and it was like Blaine just understood. Kurt didn’t need to make a big speech or explain at length why and how, at least not yet.

In the matter of a second Blaine had thrown himself at him, encircling his waist with his arms and holding him close. Kurt flailed with his arms for a moment, being put off balance by Blaine and not sure where to put his hands. Finally, he just let them rest around Blaine’s neck and hugged him back.

“You’re here,” Blaine mumbled somewhere in the region of Kurt’s neck, “You’re _back_.” The word was so heavily emphasized, Kurt knew what Blaine was getting at. “I am, yeah,” Kurt breathed out and in return Blaine squeezed him harder.

Finally, the two men let go of each other and turned back to face Rachel and her date.

“Rachel, Jesse, let me introduce you to Mr. Kurt Hummel, designer, fashionista, childhood friend.” Kurt could basically feel the smug grin in Blaine’s voice. It also really helped his confidence and comfort that Blaine had grabbed his hand at childhood friend.

Jesse and Rachel were still looking stunned but Rachel was recovering much faster than Jesse.

“Rachel Berry,” Rachel introduced herself, extending her hand and Kurt took it with the one currently not clasped in Blaine’s grip. “I really do admire your work.” Her voice was warm and charming and Kurt was sure she could contest a siren with it.

“It’s my pleasure, Miss Berry,” he said and meant it.

Jesse introduced himself as well as soon as he had regained his wits.

“So, I think we have a common friend,” Rachel said to him. Her smile was friendly but there was something in her voice and eyes… “Elliot Gilbert. I am sure he mentioned you.”

Kurt’s heart dropped into his stomach. Mean and beautiful, putting him on the spot. He liked her.

“Yeah, you’re right. Actually, I just spoke with him. I might tailor his suit for his next premier.” She covered up her surprise at that expertly but Kurt could still see it.

“Well that is… a pleasant surprise,” her eyebrows rose as she sized him up, obviously trying to make up her mind about him. “He’ll have to tell me everything about it.”

“Maybe we should go talk to him right now,” Jesse cut in and Rachel was quick to nod.

“Yes, great. If you two excuse us…” And with that they vanished into the crowd.

“She tried to put you on the spot,” Blaine said, grinning and Kurt chuckled.

“Yeah. She has every right to.” Blaine gave him a long look. “You seem different today.” Kurt shrugged. “Good different.” Blaine paused for a moment, searching his eyes and Kurt didn’t look away.

“Not just different. Familiar. Like I know the person standing at my side again.” The words made Kurt’s stomach tighten painfully.

“I called my dad,” was all he could think of to say. Blaine looked only surprised for a moment before another grin lit up his face.

“That’s wonderful. I bet he was euphoric.” Kurt huffed out a laugh. “He yelled quite a bit. He wants me to come home soon. He told you talked.” It wasn’t an accusation but Blaine’s face became guarded instantly.

“He was worried about you, I just…” Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand and shook his head. “I’m not mad, I’m rather glad you did. In fact I was wondering, if you wanted to come visit him with me.” Kurt basically stumbled over these last words, as nervous as he had been inviting Blaine for coffee over a decade ago.

“I’d love that,” Blaine just said and Kurt could feel a ton of weight dropping from his heart. Braver because of Blaine’s reaction and the hand still holding his Kurt added, “And when we’re back I would very much like to take you out, Blaine. I know this must be the strangest and weirdest and maybe even the creepiest thing ever happening to you but please, give me a second chance?”

Blaine was silent for a very long moment.

“Like… like a date?” he asked hesitantly. Kurt just nodded, lips pressing together so he wouldn’t start chewing on them.

“I… Kurt this is… very sudden,” Kurt felt his heart drop again and this time it didn’t seem to stop at his stomach, but fell down further, surely escaping his trousers and making a run for it, never to be seen again.

“No, it’s okay, I understand. You have no inclination to even talk to me…”

“Yes.” Now it was Kurt’s turn to be stunned and silent. After a moment where he just stared and Blaine just smiled Kurt regained the function of his mouth again.

“Yes?” Blaine nodded still smiling.

“I have no idea what happened between yesterday evening and now, Kurt, but I just… I missed you. Sure, I need to know what happened but the important thing is that you’re here and if the last years have taught me one thing, is that you don’t let opportunity pass.”

Their eyes locked and Kurt was sure that Blaine was thinking of the exact same thing he was. The-kiss-that-didn’t-happen all those years ago.

For a second Kurt was tempted to kiss Blaine then and there but he didn’t. This time he was going to make it right.

“I know what you mean,” Kurt just said, quietly as if they were sharing a secret.

“Awesome,” Blaine just said making Kurt giggle. “Well then, Mr. Hummel. I have a feeling I need to introduce you or maybe just reintroduce you to a couple of people.”

Kurt laughed as Blaine started to tug at his hand but called out for him a second later.

“Yeah?” Blaine asked, turning his head towards him. “Merry Christmas,” Kurt said smiling. Blaine’s eyes lit up and he laughed. For a second Kurt thought Blaine would just turn away again, going on to show him around, but then Blaine just tugged Kurt towards him. In a flash soft lips were connecting with his cheek, warm and much longer than appropriate for a simple peck on the cheek. Kurt closed his eyes, relishing in the gentle touch.

As the lips left his cheek, they came to hover at his ear.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Kurt,” Blaine whispered into his ear. As he pulled back Kurt could just catch a glimpse of how flushed Blaine looked but then he whisked him away into the crowd to meet new people and to celebrate the holidays.

It was a Christmas miracle and Kurt was actually looking forward to it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i actually did manage to finsih it before the end of easter so yay.  
> thanks goes to cait for cheering me on. finishing this was a bitch and i hope i did okay.  
> merry christmas!... or well happy easter  
> either way have a good week ;)


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